


Beyond Them, Between Us

by ElizaXSpears



Series: Mind Who You Reap: One-Shot and Full Story [3]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Bad Eating Habits, Dealing With Loss, Fluff, Getting Together, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It's only there for a short time, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Slow Burn, Smoking, The OC romance is not at all a main romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:27:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27954596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizaXSpears/pseuds/ElizaXSpears
Summary: Forgetting is not easy, nor is moving on, especially when one is riddled with guilt and the other is loyal to a fault.
Relationships: Eric Slingby/Original Male Character, Eric Slingby/William T. Spears, Past Alan Humphries/Eric Slingby, Past Ronald Knox/William T. Spears
Series: Mind Who You Reap: One-Shot and Full Story [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/802194
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

The skies are a dreary grey; there’s hardly a sun to even try breaking through the monochrome and grey skies mean rain. Not that he’s surprised, it’s London after all. He used to never mind the rain, used to never mind working in the worst types of weather because he always used to have someone to go home to. _Used_ to. The memories are so vivid that sometimes he forgets everything that’s happened and he expects to see a brunette waiting for him so they may take their leave home for the evening. It’s always bitter when that memory crumbles away.

He lost track of time for how long it’s been since he lost his mate and his lover, his _husband_ , to whatever the hell they settled on her being; a ghost, a tormented soul, was that the same thing? Either way, she took the two reapers that were most precious to him. The two reapers that made this hell of an afterlife worth living but now he’s grown apathetic to it all. The first few weeks were hard enough, going to bed and waking up alone, not having that security or comfort then going to work and not having that break from the constant repetitiveness that was being a reaper. As the weeks wore on, he grew more and more apathetic to everything and everyone. He had hoped the old adage of ‘time heals all wounds’ would apply here, but no. No, it only made that hole in his heart larger every passing hour.

He blows out the smoke from the drag of his cigarette, standing next to the corpse of the man whose soul he’d come to collect. It wasn’t lost on him that he was starting to sound like Spears, the reaper everyone thought of when they heard apathy. He’d never seen someone shut down more than he had with Spears once they’d lost Ronald as well. Part of him used to worry about William, worry that he’d shut down like that but then he remembers the venom Spears spat at him and suddenly he doesn’t care anymore. If Spears didn’t care about him, he wouldn’t put in the effort to care about Spears.

He stands on the roof the next second, watching the man's friend's come to find him bleeding out in the alley. He watches the array of emotions flicker over their faces; a lot of which he relates to. Finding Alan on that couch, knowing he was dead but not accepting that fact until he was able to touch him, experiencing the five stages of grief almost simultaneously yet still refusing the acceptance stage. He understands what they’re going through but that was life. It was never fair and it only took and took and _took_.

He takes one final drag before crushing the butt of his cigarette under his shoe. He tilts his head back and blows out that smoke, letting the raindrops splash off the lens of his glasses. The sky goes blurry and the water is almost refreshing despite being soaked through. He used to hate when his suit and hair would stick to his skin but now, it feels oddly intimate, like if he pretends, closes his eyes and puts himself in a fantasy, it’s Alan that’s plastered so close against him, hugging him, breathing against his ear.

Easily, he makes his way over London’s roofs, leaping effortlessly across them to get to his next collection. Part of him can’t help watching the humans as they go about their day, the couples holding hands or sharing a coffee or umbrella. It’d been a long time since he last thought of his own human days; of his mother, his father, sisters or once betrothed. He wonders if his old home is even still standing or if it’s been torn down for new developments; if not, he’d wanted to take Alan back there, back to Scotland. It had been a plan of his for a long time before, much like the ring, he’d taken too long.

He’s surprised to find that was his last collection for the day; an elderly woman having passed naturally in her sleep. He’s sure he would know about her by viewing her memories but he could care less if he was honest. There was nothing out of the ordinary, there was no demon scent around, thus he collected her Cinematic Record and was done. He simply waited until it came to an end and his job was finished.

It’s still raining when he stands outside again, although it’s lessened up a bit. It still makes for a dreary day but at least it’s a small reprieve from the downpour it used to be. He knows it’ll make lighting a cigarette easier, as he takes one from his nearly empty packet.

He just gets his lighter from his pocket when someone runs straight into him, knocking his lighter from his hand and subsequently the coffee from theirs. He sighs, removing the cigarette from his lips. “Watch where the hell yer goin’.”

The younger man on the ground painfully groans as he gets to his knees, rubbing at his right elbow. “Sorry, sorry.” he mutters. “Was…was in a rush. Suppose to get these coffees to the boss.” Eric watches the younger man scoop up the now empty cardboard coffee containers as well as his lighters. “Um, is this yours?”

Eric all but snatches the lighter from the man's grip and is quick to light his cigarette. It’s a long drag before he breathes out, looking down at the young man. Standing now, he’s a little shorter than Eric, maybe William’s height with shaggy brown hair and pale blue eyes; his physique is almost reminiscent of Alan with a little more weight on him. “Be more careful then. If I weren’t in a better mood, ye’d be gettn’ more than a warnin’.” he leaves the human after that, curiously flipping through his death list. Obviously there was no one new added but he knew they’d meet again.

He finally gets back to the realm smelling like smoke; something normal for him now. Being with Alan had curbed some of the habit since the brunette didn’t like the smell but now with no one around to stop for, he’s picked it back up full force.

What’s also usual now is the reapers coming to test waters with him again, to see if he’s finally receptive to their flirtations which no, he is not. He doesn’t want anyone near him, not any of his old mates or flames and certainly not new ones. He just wants to be left alone, a concept many don’t understand. The Eric they loved was the old Eric, that didn’t know what true love was like. The Eric he’s become is starved for affection but solely from one individual and he can’t get that back.

Wanting to be left alone is mutual with William as well, as when he opens the door without bothering to knock, the man doesn’t even bother to greet whoever enters his office. His eyes are locked on his paperwork, hand scribbling across the page with a strange wobble to it and deep down, part of Eric wants to slam his hand over William’s and send him to bed but the bigger part of him still doesn’t care. “Here.” he says abruptly, dropping his death list on the desk.

He’s surprised to see William startle, gaze snapping upward before that shock quickly fades, his eyes narrowing. “Ever heard of knocking?”

“Dinnae know if ye’d let me in or no’.”

William all but scowls at him. “Get out Slingby. I’m in no mood to deal with you.”

“Dun ‘ave tae tell me twice.” maybe he closes the door more harshly than he intended as he leaves but even just looking at William boils his blood. He knows once upon a time he and William were cordial with each other but now, that feels like a far off memory. He wants nothing to do with William and it’s almost relieving Willam wants nothing to do with him either.

He’s ready to leave when someone wraps their arms around his, yanking him backwards. By the smell of the perfume alone, he knows who it is. “Wha’ do ye need Red?”

Grell is smiling oddly flirtatiously at him, not that Grell had never tried to get in bed with Eric and Grell had been very understanding once Alan had passed, so it’s a little strange to have that look directed at him again. “There you are! I’d been wondering where the Scotsman went!”

“‘E’s goin’ ‘ome”

“Or! He could come join me and a friend for a drink or two?”

There’s a long pause as Eric considers the offer. From Grell’s smile, he’d been thinking the red head was planning on hooking him up but as blunt and as forceful as Grell was, he’d been one of the few lifelines he had since Alan’s passing. Maybe…maybe a drink with a familiar face would do him good. “Ye payin’?”

“Well, I _suppose_.” the red head huffs.

He still hesitates, looking Grell up and down then flicking his eyes to the front doors. He could leave right now, go home to an empty flat that held nothing, not even memories, or he could _finally_ step out of rut and get a few drinks. While alcohol was always a companion, he’d gotten used to being light with his alcohol. Much like the smokes, Alan didn’t like the stench of it, so he cut down. Now, there was no Alan. “Aye, alrigh’. Could go for a few drinks. Who else ye bringin’?”

“This charming man from spectacles!”

It ends up being a date Eric third wheels on. Grell’s enamoured with the reaper Eric’s forgotten the name of but he could also care less about either of them at the moment for he has free booze. He started off trying to be responsible until he remembered he could drink as much as he wanted now; after his third beer, his inhibitions were thrown to the wind.

What hasn’t changed since his drinking days, is his ability to hold his liquor. He could easily drink Ronald under the table and even when he was three sheets to the wind himself, he still kept a level of sobriety. “And he refuses to even acknowledge the date he promised me!” Grell goes on as he’s had more drinks then Eric, “he promised me one date for not getting all uppity about him and Ronnie! One! And he refuses to even say he said that!”

Eric feels sorry for the man Grell’s dragged on this date since William’s been the prime topic of conversation for most of it and most of that has been complaining about how he’s gone even colder. Eric’s tuned most of it out, only catching snippets here and there; he’s more interested in his drink. “Normally I’d have to cut people off by now.” says the bartender as Eric’s arrived at the bar for his next beer. “You sure you’re the one drinking these?”

Eric smirks, easily throwing back the shot glass. “Aye.”

“You’ve got the highest tolerance I’ve seen. Impressive actually.” he says, getting Eric another full drink.

Eric rests his folded arms on the bars counter with an offhand shrug. “Could always hold me liquor. Besides, ’s easier tae do when yer dead.”

The bartender smirks. “I’m sure it is.”

Eric highly doubts he believes him, he’s just humouring a patron but Eric wouldn’t be surprised if he’s heard something similar. Eric knows for a fact this place is often revered among reapers; it used to be his and Ronald’s favourite spot. It was a modern pub but stylized to match those of the ones built in the late 1800 to early 1900s. _“C’mon Eric! Who says you can’t have one more?”_ absently, his eyes trail the memory playing next to him; Ronald and himself sitting here a few weeks after the grand opening and sharing a night of drinking, celebrating their freedom from overtime.

_“Alan.”_

_“He’s not here! C’mon, one more! I’ll pay!”_

_“Ye’re gonna pay? Well, shit! I guess I gotta! Bartender! Two more rounds!”_

_“Wait, two?!”_

_“Ye said ye were payin’! I’m makin’ the most outta tha’!”_

_“Arse!”_

Eric laughs to himself, recalling that night so easily. Along with no overtime, they didn’t have work in the morning either; no paperwork to stress over and Alan had given him the night to do whatever he wanted. He and Ronald made the most of that night, for how rare it was. “Here you are sir. Another drink.”

Eric takes the offered mug but of course when he turns back, the memory’s faded. The drink he ordered looks less appealing now but he drinks it anyway before paying his tab. He doesn’t bother telling Grell he’s leaving, instead walking out into the night air, the cool breeze rushing over his heated skin. He used to long for the crowds of pubs; the smoke, the drinks, the company. He no longer feels he belongs there now.

He’s not surprised to find he’s wandered back home; his new home. A place that’s just him, a place he doesn’t share with anyone but the ghosts he’s dragged with him. The old flat held too many memories of Alan and he couldn’t bear going home any longer so he took the Board up on their offer of a new place. Originally, they’d offered it to him when he was officially transferred to London but Eric had found a quiet peace in the small flat Alan offered to share with him. Small, quaint, content. Home.

The place he lives in now, the one that’s located in the higher ranked part of the realm, is not to his liking. It’s modern with a lot of blacks and whites; big as well, a whole two extra rooms. The old place only had one bedroom with a kitchen and dining room merged; this has an extra bedroom and the dining room off side the kitchen in its own room. It feels too big, too empty, too lonely but he couldn’t go back to _their_ home once Alan had gone, so he put up with this new place. He tried injecting colour into it, some warm tones of browns and orange accents here and there, trying to replicate how the old home felt, however, instead of the greens Alan used to have, Eric chose lavender; the colour of Ericas.

He kicks off his shoes then wanders to the back of the house where the kitchen is. He’s moved everything he felt worthy to bring with him, otherwise, everything else remains where Eric can’t take it from, left for the Board to decide what to do with it. If he’s learned anything from watching the few deserted reapers or the ones killed on the field, the Board will wipe away everything that was them before giving the flat to someone else. Eric doesn’t care if he’s left anything important back there, part of him thinks it might be best to start over.

It’s laughable how contradicting he is of that when he walks out to the back garden to tend to the flowers he’s planted. All of them had been a favourite of Alan’s at a time, all of them valued in Alan’s little flower adoring heart. It amazed Eric that Alan knew nearly every flower by name and even what they meant in their own language; the Ericas, loneliness. Eric never quite learned the full reason why that was Alan’s favourite flower, always vague about his human life but he knew enough to understand why Alan was so connected with a flower.

He crouches down, pouring what was left in the watering can over the flowers, watching the soil drink it up. He’s content with his little garden, even if Grell had told him he was holding onto ghosts. This was his little way of still connecting with Alan and he hoped the brunette's green thumb would manifest through him to keep his garden growing.

There is one oddity, however. A rose, the very same rose William had given him the day of Ronald’s memorial, the rose he said that came from Alan’s ashes, what the Thorns of Death had left behind. Eric had been cautious at first, wandering if William was toying with him but as the weeks went by, when he expected the rose to wilt and die, it remained as bloomed as the day Willam gave it to him. That was why he kept it all the way up until deciding to plant it here. He wasn’t expecting anything to come from it, had forgotten he’d actually planted something there, too busy with the other flowers, until there was a stem beginning to grow. It grew and grew until it was blooming once again although darker in colour then he remembered it being.

He can’t exactly place the scent of the rose either; it smells unlike any flower he’d known. It was sweet with another underlying scent, one familiar but distant. Certainly didn’t smell like the roses he’d brought Alan home for their anniversaries when he was still trying to woo Alan over with gifts of chocolate and flowers, before they fully felt comfortable as themselves. He knows he won’t find that again and if by some miracle he does, he knows he won’t put in the effort to keep it.

With his garden taken care of, he retreats back inside and instead of looking for dinner, he opens the fridge and takes out the bottle of red wine he’d been drinking every night after work. He can’t count the amount of bottles he’s gone through by now and he makes it a point not to look at the ever growing empty bottles pile growing in the corner of the kitchen. He just wants to forget, just for one night but it’s never enough.

He frowns at the bottle in his hand, at the idea that he’s just waxing poetry over a dead man. Alan had been the only one he allowed himself to show his softer side too, the only one who could understand Eric Slingby wasn’t all sex, booze and smoke. He enjoyed his books, his nights in, his rose scented baths; the soft things. The things like Alan.

He’s mid sip when someone knocks on his door. It’s not a polite knock either but demanding, rather, impatient. Eric’s tempted to let whoever is there stay on the other side of the door since he knows it’s not Grell. If it were, he’d be hearing, _“Eric darling!”_ . Whoever is out there now is silent but persistent. Persistent enough Eric _finally_ gets up from his comfortable position on the couch, putting the wine bottle on the coffee table as he goes to answer the door. “What?”

To his surprise, it’s William standing there with a cardboard box in his hands. “Evening.” William greets him; monotone. “Bloody took you long enough. I do not like waiting, Slingby.”

“Dinane know it was gonna be you.” he shrugs, leaning against the doorframe. This close to the man he’d actively avoided, he can’t help noticing how horrible he looked. It’s plain to see he’s not dealing with this well at _all_ , even worse than Eric had which Eric’s not sure why he’s so surprised. That shake in his hands is still there as they hold the box, the dark circles under his eyes nearly look like bruises and his cheeks have gone more hollow; his entire complexion nearly looks like the dead. He almost, _almost_ , asks how William’s doing but as he opens his mouth, he once again members what William said to him, “sae wha’ do ye want?” he asks instead.

“I came to give this to you.” he says, lifting the box a little. “This was…what was left at your old flat.”

Eric had instinctively reached out for the box but pauses just as his hands brush against William’s. “…wha’?”

William rolls his eyes. “Have you gone deaf? I _said_ , this was all that was left at your old place. It’s all of…Alan’s things.”

Eric looks at the closed flaps of the box, finally taking it from William’s shaking hands. “Alan…” he swallows, holding back the urge to shove the box back into Williams hands and slam the door in his face. “Sae, yer the lad they sent fer clean up duty?”

“Indeed. They’ve neglected the fact I’ve been swamped with extra work from two absent reapers. I don’t have time for that _and_ to clean up…what’s left.”

Eric’s forgotten that as well. William’s pulling more shifts then he should with the extra paperwork he now has until the qualified reaper can come and pick up the extra slack. “I see.” there’s a long, awkward silence as neither of them know what to say. If, only for a moment, Eric still wants to reach out a hand to William but as he looks down at the box, he can’t bring himself to do it. “‘m sure ye got thin’s tae do Spears, sae ye dun need tae stay ‘ere.”

William’s eyes flick from nothing to Eric then back to nothing. “You’re correct. I’ll be…taking my leave then. Slingby.”

“Spears.” again, maybe he closes the door a little too harshly in William’s face but does it matter? The bridge between them had been burnt, what was the harm in blowing away the ashes?

He continues staring down at the box William’s given him. What’s he meant to do it with it? Part of him wants to open it, see what William’s collected but the other part of him knows if he does, the wall he’s built will come crumbling down. He’s not ready to feel so vulnerable, even in his own home. Instead, he takes the box back to his bedroom where he finds a spot for it; in the very back of his wardrobe. At least there, it wouldn’t be in the way and he wouldn’t have to see it, so with that taken care of, he returns to the sitting room, returns to the bottle.

He drinks the rest of it without realizing until his next sip is just air. He frowns at the empty bottle, before putting it with the rest. He knows he should bin them all but he really has no motivation for anything besides his little garden. Instead, he drags himself to bed, absently stripping down once he gets there. Each article of clothing he removes is a layer of his barrier gone until he slides bare under the blankets. What feels like years ago there used to be a lovely brunette sharing his bed.

The pillow next to his is cold, the side next to his is empty and all Eric can do to even mimic the warmth that used to be Alan, is take that pillow and hold it tight. Of course it was no Alan, nothing and no one could ever be, but he closed his eyes and pretended. For a few blissful hours once sleep claims him, he could pretend he had what he lost. 


	2. Chapter 2

The words are blurring together again. His signature has degraded severely in these last few hours causing him to start over multiple times to even  _ try _ to get a decent letter. It’s times like these where he wishes the Board updated technology as well, at least mistakes typing were easily backspaced. An ink pen was a horror story for the state he was in and he used to pride himself on his penmanship.

He hasn’t felt like this in years, not since he first started in this position and didn’t know how to cope with the strict deadlines and overwhelming amounts of paperwork. He thought he’d been lucky to receive the position as a younger reaper but the moment he sat behind his desk, he regretted ever wanting to be here. The pay was hardly worth losing his sanity and his health. No, what truly makes this time different from back then is the loss of the two reapers that had made him feel something. Specifically, the loss of Ronald. They all knew Alan would leave eventually and perhaps subconsciously, William had been ready for that end, but Ronald? He wasn’t ready to lose Ronald, especially not when he’d been such a horrible lover to the younger man. He barely gave Ronald half of what Ronald tried to give him; by the time he realized his mistakes, realized how unfair he’d been, Ronald was already gone.

He throws down his pen then runs both hands over his eyes, slouching back in his seat. His hands aren’t working with him well enough for him to get anything done. His fingers feel like they’re someone else’s and his eyes are burning. There’s a cuss rising in the back of his throat but he holds it back, trying to breathe instead.

Breathe in, hold and out.

He repeats it a few times until his hands have stopped shaking enough that he feels he might actually be able to finish some of these papers. He runs his fingers through his hair that’s gotten more and more unkempt as the nights worn on. Considering he’s the only one still here, he cares not if his bangs are hanging in his eyes by now; he just wants to be done. It’s not even about going home at a decent hour, it’s about being  _ done _ . That’s it.

He won’t admit it but when the landline on his desk rings, he jumps. It’s not often this phone is used and when it is, it’s direct orders from the Board. That doesn’t make him pick it up any quicker, instead he takes a few extra moments to breathe, to calm his nerves before answering, “yes?”

_ “Mr. Spears, good evening. The Board realizes how late it is but as there are to be new transfers in the coming days, the Board has requested of you to visit the households of the late Humphries and Knox to dispose of any belongings left behind. They request you do so tonight, thank you.” _

William looks at the receiver when he’s hung up on. Really? Now? When he still has all this work to do, they want him to do it  _ now _ ? He supposed he can’t really be surprised. When was the last time the Board ever cared about overworking their reapers? “Fine.” he says to no one, hanging up the handset.

He shoves back his chair, ignoring the scraping of the legs across the hardwood. He stands, taking his coat he’d draped over the back of his chair and shoves his arms through the respective holes, unable to keep a scowl off his face. So much work he has to get done and the Board sends him on some inane errand they could have had anyone else deal with, but no. They make  _ him _ do it and of course he will because he’s never told the Board ‘no’.

It’s when he’s outside the office and he’s walking does he come to realize what the Board has actually asked of him. Humphries? Knox? They…want him to clean out their home? At least, make sure there was no personal belongings left behind? Surely Eric’s already done that with Alan, hasn’t he? Wouldn’t the blonde want to keep anything remotely related to the brunette? Maybe, maybe that’ll be the first home to go to, it might be easier.

The vacant flat hasn’t changed much from the outside. It still looks like it’s occupied by the well known couple; it only takes trying the door and opening it to find it’s still empty. Mostly everything has been removed, gutting the interior of the house save the major appliances and bigger furniture. So far he sees nothing of personal belongings, checking each room before coming to the bedroom.

He understands what the Board means now, seeing the bedroom had barely been touched. Other than the blankets and half empty wardrobe, nothing else had been moved. Perhaps Eric hadn’t wanted anything of Alan’s, expected it all to be tossed. Well, too bad, he was going to get it.

He runs his fingers through his hair again, trying to see on a surface level what was worth keeping. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees an empty box sat near the door and he can’t help but glare at it. Of course they would send someone to give him what he needed to pack stuff but not actually do it themselves. Of  _ course _ . Then again, maybe it’s best he’s the one to clean things out. He knows what’s worth keeping and what’s worth tossing, at least, if his memory of Alan served him right.

The first thing he does is go to the wardrobe. Obviously Eric’s taken all of his things, so it’s left to William to decide what of Alan’s should be kept. He knows there’s no reason to really keep any of these clothes but there are things he can’t part with, well, one thing. A sweater. He recalls Alan would always wear it after work; it was the first thing he’d do. It’s made of wool and it’s a cream colour that was soft to the touch; Alan lived in it when he’d get home. Vividly, he can see Alan wearing this, back on William’s couch with tea warming his hands, invested in either a book or the outside world.

There’s moisture gathering in the corner of his eyes as he holds the sweater. Part of him wants to take this for himself, Eric wouldn’t know if he did but the bigger part of him knows it’s not his place. While technically not Eric’s place either, Eric was the closest to Alan at the time of his death; he should decide what to do with these items. Not him.

Carefully he folds up the sweater, setting it at the bottom of the box before continuing on. Other than the sweater, he finds nothing else worth keeping. Eric’s done well collecting what he wants leaving William with little to search through; what he does find when he’s finished clearing out the home was a book of Alan’s, one he collected some years back about the Language of Flowers, a pocket watch Eric had given him for his…birthday? An anniversary? One of those. Even with his modern watch, Alan kept the pocket one with him at all times. And lastly, Alan’s tie. William’s surprised to find it forgotten on the floor, partly under the bed. The metal skull has dulled and it’s dusty but otherwise still in excellent condition. Surely Eric would want this, wouldn’t he?

He puts it in the box and with one last look, he decides to take the box and step out of the flat. He hesitates before flicking the lights off for the last time and the house goes dark. Walking away had never been so hard before but he takes a deep breath as he does, staring down at the box that was Alan. He knows he needs to drop this off with Eric and he hopes, he doesn’t have the door slammed in his face.

******************************

He’s thankful Eric didn’t try striking conversation with him once he delivered Alan’s things. Not because he was itching to argue but because he was afraid he’d break character. Eric was the only one who understood his pain. At least, he thought he did, but seeing Eric like that at his home, seeing him go out with Grell that evening, he seems to have moved on so easily. William had promised Alan he’d watch over Eric so he didn’t do anything stupid once he passed; it seemed Alan had nothing to worry about.

Finally, he arrives at Ronald’s flat and he knows for a fact this place hadn’t been touched since Ronald’s passing. Ronald had been staying with him ever since that spirit had made herself known in his bedroom. A spirit  _ he _ could have prevented, a fact William will not allow himself to forget.

It’s knowing that, is what makes it harder for him to open the door. His hand rests on the doorknob and it takes all his will power to push the door open. He’s hit with a sudden rush of life, of what this place would look like still lived in; the lights on, the TV running a program, someone shuffling about in the bedroom, in a rush to get dressed. He wishes he’d had a time to experience that, to come back to Ronald’s flat after a long day instead of walking all the way back to his, both chastising and admiring the young blonde’s laid back attitude; to help clean this up but also be taught to leave things in a little disarray sometimes. Alan had been good for him to learn to open up and he knew Ronald would have been good for him as well, to teach him life didn’t always need order.

The life fades away when he steps inside, killing the illusion. Just like before, there’s an empty cardboard box next to the door meant for only the most valuable things. To be honest, he’s not even sure where to begin, what would even be valuable to Ronald? Again, why should it matter? He was dead, there was no point to keep any of things here; all of it should be tossed away for space of things of actual importance to reapers still here. William had never seen himself as a sentimental type of man, yet here he is.

At first, there’s nothing. Nothing he thinks Ronald would want to keep and nothing he would want to keep in memory of Ronald either. The younger reaper's precious wrist watch and switchblade were exactly where Ronald had left them back in William’s flat, so at first, he doesn’t think there’s anything here. At first. It wasn’t until he finds a photo does he reconsider. It’s of Ronald and Eric. From the little scenery he can see, it looks like it’s some sort of party they’re attending, Ronald’s arm thrown over the taller reaper's shoulder, he’s the one holding the camera for the picture while Eric looks equally amused and uncomfortable having to bend in such a way to be in frame. Ronald, however, is smiling big and wide, grinning from ear to ear, a look William finds himself smiling the tiniest bit at.

He carefully folds the photo and slips it into his pocket, continuing his search until he finds another thing worth keeping. It’s Ronald’s sketchbook, tucked away in the bottom of his dresser under his dress shirts. William stares at it for a moment, glancing around as if someone will chastise him for looking. He knows that won’t happen but it is a small fight with himself before picking it up. It’s as thick as William remembers it from when Ronald last showed it to him and he flips through the pages, recalling many of the landscapes inside.

He sits himself on the still unnamed bed, flipping though the book, taking his time to really admire each drawing Ronald had done. The younger reaper had skill, he could easily capture a scene with just his pencil. William’s favourites would always be the ones done of autumn or winter landscapes; it’s like he could feel the cool air or the snow on his fingertips.

He flips backwards in the book, only viewing the other half of Ronald’s art previously, so he’s curious to see how Ronald’s progressed in his skill. He’s only a few pages in when he pauses. He’d thought he’d only find landscapes in here, Ronald himself said he wasn’t good at anatomy but looking at these, they’re wonderful. The detail, the shading, all of it of the same, or even better quality than the landscapes. He doesn’t know any of these faces, he just knows a lot of them were obviously posing until he stops. There's a portrait of himself. He’s sitting under a tree reading a book and he’s not even sure when Ronald could have drawn this but it’s him and as he flips the page, he sees another one of him, this one more freeform than a true portrait and if he flips the page one more time, it’s another one of him but there’s someone else in it; Ronald himself. He knows the pose is made up but it's with Ronald looking up at Willam with their eyes locked and he’s looking down at Ronald so softly. If he tries hard enough with his limited imagination, he can almost make a photo out of this drawing.

He closes the sketchbook, holding it tight to his chest. His heart is heavy and he holds back a sob. He didn’t expect to come here and rifle through all of Ronald’s things, especially not to come across something like this. He really meant more to the boy than William thought he had and he had to go and be complete arse about the entire thing until it was too late. If he hadn’t been full of self loathing before, he certainly was now.

He wipes at one eye with the heel of his hand before putting himself back together. With only two things he found worth keeping, he exits the home with a lump in his throat. Normally he would take these things back to his home, but he’s got too much work to do and he’s already spent longer than he intended to be away from it, so he takes the items with him back to his office. It’s when he sits back in his office chair, does he finally feel the effects of another all-nighter.

His vision has gone horribly blurry now, unfocused as his consciousness fades in and out an alarming amount of times. His breathing has gone shaky and his limbs won’t cooperate as he tries picking up his pen. Each time he tries, it slips from his fingers that refuse to keep a solid grip on the object. He needs something to keep him going, something to keep him awake, he has too much work to do to sleep now. There should still be coffee in the break room, perhaps cold, it would do the trick, he thinks as he stands.

It’s then he suddenly finds himself on the floor with the sun beginning to shine through the closed curtains of his office window. He blinks many times before gingerly pushing himself to his knees. He’s got a splitting headache and he doesn’t feel rested at all; if anything he feels  _ worse _ . Maybe that’s because his headache comes from hitting his head on the corner of his desk when he passed out. “Damn it all.” he curses, grabbing the lip of his desk to help him back to his feet; he’s barely able to keep upright, shrugging to stand before gratefully collapsing back on his chair. He figures it was due time his body gave up on him. If he wasn’t going to sleep willingly, his body forced him to it.

He stares at his desk, finding that none of last night's work had gotten done and by the location of the sun, he’s going to have today's work on top of it all. It’s not even self pity at this point, he just doesn’t want to be  _ here _ anymore. “I was thinking maybe tonight you could take me on that promised date!”

William winces at the sound of Grell’s voice more than the door opening. If he was in no mood to deal with anyone, he certainly wasn’t in the mood to deal with  _ Grell _ . “I told you, that offer has been retracted.”

“Oh, but why? It’s rude to break promises Will!”

“It’s rude to barge into my office without knocking as well.” he adjusts his glasses, glad his vision had somewhat evened out. “And there’s no promise to break. I told you I would when Knox was alive. He’s not now, is he?”

Grell frowns, “Will, what happened? Yes, yes, I know, you lost Al and Ronnie, we all did, but you’re taking it so much harder than anyone else. I thought we’d finally found common ground?”

“Perhaps because I cared too much.” he says more to himself than Grell. “No one cares about them anymore, do they? Slingby certainly doesn’t. If Knox and Humphries mattered so much to him, then why is already willing to go out on the town? Probably find someone else to share his bed with? He’s moved on, he left all that was Alan behind, he holds himself tall. All of you have moved on and I…I can’t.” Grell had meant for the gesture to be comforting, rounding the desk to put his hands on William’s arm, but the moment they made contact, William swats him away. “Leave Sutcliffe. I have far too much work to do to bother with you.”

“Will…Eric hasn’t moved on either. He’s still taking it just as hard as you are.”

“I doubt that. Just look at him.”

“And what have you seen to prove that?”

“Again, he’s already going out with you to get drinks, half the secretarial staff are already hounding him and goddess knows with his libido he’s probably taken at least most of them home by now.”

“Will, you’re only seeing the surface. Eric hasn’t slept with anyone since Alan.”

“I find that very hard to believe. As loyal as Slingby was, he too easily gives in to his carnal desires.”

Grell seems to know he’s not going to get anywhere with him, so he rolls his eyes and leaves. Perhaps Grell is right, perhaps Eric is still as loyal as ever but that doesn’t help William feel any better about his own self hatred; if Eric is back to being the ‘Casanova’ he was before Alan, it makes him feel better about reverting back to the old William. He won’t forget them, he won’t turn into what Eric is. A reaper does their job coldly, without emotion and he plans to follow that without question.


	3. Chapter 3

_ They’re surrounded by a variety of flowers but all of them are variations of purple. They’re surrounded by people as well but they’re not as clear as the flowers are; fading into the background. The only thing that’s clear as day, is the brunette standing in front of him, making everyone around them unimportant. They’re only there for the illusions for it’s only the flowers and Alan that matter most, the colourful petals holding Alan’s attention more than once during the ceremony; his smile bright and eyes warm. He’s dressed in a white suit, sporting a purple tie and darker purple waist coat. His hair has been smoothed back, his eyes clear as day without his spectacles hindering them; his hands are bare and they’re holding tightly to Eric’s. As the ceremony continues, his eyes begin to water as Eric’s own do when they finally come to the point he’d been waiting for. “Alan Humphries, do you take Eric Slingby to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward?” _

_ “I do.” Alan answers with a break in his voice. He lets one of Eric’s hands go to wipe at his eye; his cheeks pink and his smile can’t be wider. _

_ “Then do you, Eric Slingby, take Alan Humphries to be your—” _

_ “I do.” _

_ Eric doesn’t need to hear the full question, he knew his answer the moment he laid eyes on Alan. There was never doubt in his mind that he wanted to be here, that he wanted to take Alan’s hand, to wed him. Alan squeezes his hands tighter, pulling Eric closer to him so they’re mere inches apart. “My husband.” Alan says to him, “I’ve waited too long to call you that.” _

_ “I’ve waited longer, love.” _

_ “Kiss me then. Make it official.” _

_ Eric leans in for it, Alan leaning to meet him when the world freezes. Eric feels it in the way Alan’s hands suddenly grow cold, how he just stops mid way. Eric’s brows furrow and he calls Alan’s name; no answer. Time has stopped. “Alan?” he asks again, in a desperate hope for time to come back. “Alan, c’mon,  _ **_please_ ** _.” he cups Alan’s cheeks, closing the distance between them in hopes that a kiss will restore everything. Instead, things begin to fade away; the faceless crowd is consumed by darkness and in a blink, Alan’s reverted back to his reaper self. HIs suit is black, his hair in his eyes, his glasses on his nose. Happy tears fade to the opposite as those damnable black markings seep back into Alan’s skin; his lovers eyes glossing over as his skin begins to peel away; as all of him begins peeling away. He yanks Alan into his chest, locking his strong arms around Alan’s back; he goes limp, becomes deadweight. “Please, don’t go, not…not again…” he croaks out, the darkness enclosing around him, “please.” _

******************************

He wakes with a start, breathing hard and staring at the empty side of the bed. HIs heart pounds rapidly against his ribs. He lays there, trying to steady his breathing before he feels he can close his eyes again; there’s nothing behind his eyelids, just an empty void that he’s too afraid to go back to.

It’s not the first time he’s had this dream, it's been reoccurring since Alan had been diagnosed with the thorns. What made this one worse, was the fact he couldn’t roll over and reassure himself it was only a nightmare, that Alan was sleeping next to him. This time, there is no Alan; his nightmare was real. Alan was gone and he would never come back. There were no more kisses, no more cuddles, no more soft reassurances, no more safety in letting his walls down. Nothing. Everything Eric built up with Alan, destroyed.

He swallows around the lump in his throat, reaching for Alan’s pillow and holding it tightly to him. It used to smell like Alan, a scent that helped Eric project Alan to be there when he’d close his eyes but now that scent has long faded leaving just a normal pillow behind.

He breathes out slowly, daring to crane his neck around to view the alarm clock. He’s due to work in an hour and all he wants to do is take the clock and toss it out the window, listen to the satisfying crunch and crackle as it hits the pavement below. Of course, even if he does, that won’t stop time. Instead, he decides to waste a little of it, burying his face into Alan’s pillow.

He squeezes the pillow a little tighter before finding the willpower to sit up. Getting ready for the day is something that’s just done on auto pilot since,  _ then _ . He just does what he needs to; showers, dresses, barley has the energy to style his hair or shave. He nicks himself a few times with his razor but it’s not like he cares much, the sting only lasting seconds and the cut itself healed even quicker. He wishes heartache would heal the same way.

The walk to work is quiet, much like the walk home is. He doesn’t have his partner next to him, his partner that always complained about mornings. Alan was the furthest thing from a morning person despite his great work ethic. He recalls one winter morning he physically had to drag Alan out of bed because the brunette was too warm and comfortable to do it on his own. He knew Alan would never admit that’s what happened, but Eric enjoyed tossing Alan over his shoulder and carrying him to the shower.

When he arrives at work, he finds himself only staring at the coffee pot. His usual choice of drink but thinking of Alan had him turning his attention to the teapot; Alan always preferred it over the stronger taste of coffee. The tea, much like the coffee, however, isn’t the best quality out there; it’s cheap to cut back on costs since the cafeteria was introduced but it served its purpose. “Does Mr. Slingby like his tea now?”

Eric faces the woman who’s come up to talk to him; an old friend with benefits. She’s still a friend but he’d made it very clear he wants nothing like they used to have since Alan’s passing. She took it well enough and still seems to be taking it well, leaning against the counter next to him with nothing but a friendly air around her. “Somethin’ new.”

“New would be good for you.” she smiles.

It’s been some time since they’ve talked. She, Jenna, preferred not to hang around Eric when he was with Alan, explaining it was her own jealousy mixed with seeing how serious Eric had been about Alan when they had something so casual. She was honest with her jealousy and Eric could respect that. “Aye, think it would.”

“Eric, I…do you think it’s been long enough, for you?” she asks, putting her hands on his bicep, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Eric looks down at them then back at her. Usually, it would be. He had plenty of break ups but those were more casual, at least, to him. He was, more often than not, the one to end it and he was on another date with someone else the next day. Usually, yes. This would be enough time. Except, Alan wasn’t another lay, he wasn’t just someone to satisfy his urges with then move on; Alan was his everything. “No. ‘m sorry, bu’, no, it ‘asn’t.” he answers, gently pushing her hands away. “Dun think it e’er will be.”

“I guess not, but, I thought I’d check in.” she leaves after giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. Eric looks down at his tea, thinking; he hadn’t outright turned a cold shoulder to her, so he suspects that maybe that's progress…or maybe that’s cause she wasn’t so damn pushy like everyone else is.

He drinks his tea casually as he observes the rest of the realm. He feels like he’s not really standing there as no one really acknowledges that he’s there; some give him the friendly good morning wave, others, one reaper in particular, gives him the finger to which he returns to the gesture. Thankfully, that reaper hasn’t caused any problems, so maybe deep down, he has sympathy as well. “Slingby.”

Eric looks over at the reaper coming up to him; he’s one of the older reapers, around sixty in human years, with salt and pepper hair, even more slicked back than William’s with cold narrow eyes behind thick rimmed glasses. “Hendrick.” Eric greets. “Coffee?”

“No. I’m here to deliver you your collections for the day.”

Eric looks at the ledger with confusion, taking it anyway. “Collections?”

“That is what I said, yes. William has me running errands for him and my first job was to deliver that to you.” the reaper rolls his eyes. “His youth and power over me irks me greatly. I would much prefer an elder gentleman in his place, someone who has experience under their belt.”

Eric’s heard the complaints plenty of times about Willam over the years from the older staff. While he may not like the man on a personal level at the moment, he’s always done good at his job, well, mostly. There are only two mishaps he can think of, one of them he doesn’t want to think about and the other is his collections. As far as he was concerned, he had teaching duty today. “Yeah, righ’, but, ye sure this is fer me?” he asks, waving the ledger to get Hendrick’s attention back.

“Of course. Why?”

Eric looks at the ledger again then shakes his head. “No reason. Thanks Hedrick, be on me way.” He leaves the older reaper behind, curious how William’s going to handle the overlapping schedule. Eric’s not even sure if he has a substitute for him lined up, which would cause even more a hassle for William and he knows he should talk to the man, get it sorted but he’s morbidly eager to find out how today will end if he just goes about his collections.

When he enters mortal London, he’s not surprised to find the weather is the same as it was yesterday. Grey skies, rain, a chill in the air. While not surprised, he would have hoped for less rain. Regardless, he begins his collections without really doing them; letting the memories reel by as he idly watches. There’s no sense of demons and deaths otherwise have all begun to look the same after doing this for so many years, he doesn’t care to watch them in depth. He finds an irony in that, as wasn’t this what Ronald was punished for? Well, unlike those two, he won’t let the soul remain; while he doesn’t care, he won’t leave until the entire record is collected from the corpse.

He’s only finished three collections before he stops for a break. Scythe put to the side, he leans against the wall, sliding out his packet of cigarettes, frowning when he takes out the last one. “Damn.” he mutters, pulling out his lighter.

It’s a coincidence. The moment he strikes his thumb on the fork, it’s once again knocked from his hand as a familiar mop of brown hair tumbles to the ground; a wet thud as he hits the pavement hard. Eric takes a deep breath, crushing the empty cigarette packet in his fist. He counts backward from ten before glaring down at the young man. “You again.” he barely holds back a growl, “dinnae I tell ye tae watch where yer goin’?”

The younger man groans, stumbling his way back to his feet and Eric can see bits of blood on his hands where he’s palms skidded on the rubble to catch himself. What really catches his attention is the crushed rose on the ground where the young man fell. “Sorry, sorry.” he quickly apologizes. “I was on my way to a date, and um, I’m kinda late…” he picks up the crushed flower, frowning at it. “I gotta go.” Eric watches the young man hastily rush off with a quirked eyebrow. He looks down at his list and does a quick flip through; no one matches his appearance, so it seems he lives to make it to his date. Curious, and with a bit of time to spare before his next collections, he decides to follow him, an endeavour which leads him to a cafe and an empty table.

About twenty minutes pass and no one shows up. Eric can see the obvious look of disappointment and humiliation cross the younger man's face as he stares down at the wilted rose. Eric can’t say he’s ever been on the receiving end of being stood up, but it’s not his problem. Honestly with how clumsy the boy seemed to be, he could hazard a guess why he had been. Perhaps too harsh but Eric knows who and who isn’t a keeper.

By the time he finishes his collections, it’s an hour before quitting time, so he spends some time wandering around London. He doesn’t feel like he belongs here, hasn’t for a long time. Perhaps being a reaper did that, it removed your humanity so you no longer felt connection to your once fellow man. No one even glances in his direction as they pass him by and Eric doesn’t take note of them either; simply a ghost passing in the evening.

He wishes he could still do this with Alan; take the younger man's hand and veer them off the beaten path toward an often isolated park, the very same park they shared their first kiss. He has a very vivid memory of that evening; the sun was low but peeked out just enough to glisten off the snow crystals. They were alone in that park, no humans wanting to be out in the cold, it made it easier for them to be lovers back then, in that time. He held Alan’s one hand in both his, smiling softly down at the brunette and receiving the same smile in return; he clearly remembers Alan was the one to initiate it, leaning up despite the hesitance. Eric meets him halfway and his arms easily encircle around Alan’s middle, holding him close on the bench in that lone park. It was one of the few happier moments he had with Alan that wasn’t overshadowed by the thorns.

With hands in his pockets, he browses the store fronts until stopping at a jewelry store. He peers inside, glancing at the items they have on display. Perhaps he’s in the mood to hate himself more, since he decides to step inside, heading straight for the rings they have on selection.

A lot of them are more Grell’s style than his; large stones, flashy, something you’d wear to show off at a party or formal event. He might have a gold chain and studs in his ears, but none of it is fancy; it’s all simple. “Evening sir, is there anything particular you’re looking for?” the woman behind the counter asks.

Eric peers up at her over the top rim of his spectacles. “A ring.” he states.

“A wonderful choice. Any specific ring we’re looking for? Engagement, wedding?”

Eric thinks about it for probably too long as the woman awkwardly waits for his answer until he replies, “engagement.”

She’s relieved to finally get an answer, smiling warmly at him. “Right this way sir. We have quite the variety.” Eric follows her and sure enough, he’s introduced to plenty of rings Alan would have loved. They’re simple and some have intriguing designs carved into the silver band while others have small diamonds encrusted into them, one having the jewels all around the outer silver ring. “Are these what you were looking for?”

“Aye, thank ye lass.”

“Of course sir. Let me know if there’s any you want to take a closer look at.” Eric gives her a nod, observing the rings on display. While a lot of them are pretty, none are quite what he’s looking for, none of them screaming ‘Alan’. None, until he finally settles on one.

******************************

When he gets back to the realm, he’s not all that surprised to see William coming to greet him. He’s obviously mad, furious even and it takes all of Eric’s willpower not to smugly smirk when he’s about to shove the anger back in William’s face. “Where the bloody hell have you been Slingby? Do you know how many times the academy called my office wondering where their instructor was?”

Eric crosses his arms. “Reapin’.”

The anger is now suddenly mixed with confusion and he summons his little book of schedules to sort this out. Sure enough, he finds he’s somehow overlapped Eric’s teaching and collections. “Damn it…” he mutters, snapping the book shut. “I, may have made an error.”

“Aye, ye did. Seems tae happen a lot lately. Maybe ye should double check thin’s more, sae, y’know, we dun ‘ave any more  _ mistakes _ .”

He all but expects the slap he receives, hard and leaving a stinging on his cheek. William’s glaring at him like he wants Eric dead on the spot, yet behind that glare, Eric sees how much that truly  _ hurt _ the man. “Get out of my sight. You’re lucky you still have a job.”

Eric watches him go, feeling the stares of the other reapers; it’s strikingly silent. He doesn’t need to say anything, instead turning on his heels and exiting the building. He doesn’t get very far before he hears the telltale sound of heels against pavement, “Eric, wait!”

He stops for Grell, taking a deep breath and facing the redhead. “Wha’?”

“What happened back there? I come from the scythe department just to see Will hit you!”

Eric crosses his arms again, hating to admit he feels the guilt setting in. “I, may o’ said somethin’ tha’ set ‘im off.”

“What did you say?” So Eric tells the redhead and he’s not at all surprised to see Grell’s reaction sour as well. “That was horrible of you!”

“I know, it’s jus’…slipped out.”

“I would have hit you too.”

Eric sighs. “I know. I dinnae mean tae say it. I just…I dunno.”

Grell stays silent for a long moment, before stepping closer to Eric, reaching out to put his hands on Eric’s shoulders. “Darling, I know you and Will aren’t on good terms right now, but, I think you owe him an apology for that. There’s being angry at each other then there’s—”

Eric’s quick to smack Grell’s hands away, stepping back with a seething glare, “an’ Spears doesn’t owe me an apology after wha’ ‘e said tae me about Alan? Does Mr. Spears get a free pass because ‘e’s more ‘broken’ than I am?”

“Eric…”

“No, I’m serious Red. Spears owes me an apology jus’ as much as owe ‘im one.”

“Then maybe—”

“No. No maybe Grell. Fuck him.” he’s being too harsh, he knows he is on both Grell and William but he also knows that if William hadn’t slipped up, hadn’t made a  _ mistake _ , Alan and Ronald would both still be here. Right now, he feels he has every right to despise Spears.

He does slam the door when he gets home. It rattles the sparse pictures on the wall and he goes right to the fridge where he has another bottle of wine ready. He needs it. The cork is easily popped and he takes three long swings. “Fuck.” he curses, staring down at the maroon liquid. “ _ Fuck _ .”

He storms off to the bedroom, downing half the bottle on his way there. He’s angry and upset and he’s not used to dealing with emotions like this. It was like the day he found out Alan had been diagnosed with the thorns. He felt utterly crushed that day, defeated, helpless. There was nothing he could have done to help Alan and when he did try, Alan resented him for it. No matter what he did, he and Alan were both fighting a losing battle…Alan.

He looks at the wardrobe where he’s shoved Alan’s things and thinks, maybe now would be a good time to look at them. If he can’t have Alan here to hold, maybe he can find solace in his things. He hopes anyway, otherwise he’ll be dragging up memories that’ll only hurt more.

He sets aside the wine bottle then opens the wardrobe, batting away the few clothes hanging in the way before carefully sliding the box out and holding it. It’s heavy in his hands, something inside him yelling at him to put it back but he steels himself, instead sitting back on the bed and quickly throwing open the flaps of the box. Alan’s tie stares up at him. He thought he’d lost this back home, unable to find it after holding it one night and passing out with it in his hand. It’s obviously been neglected for some time, dull and dusty but carefully, Eric holds the metal ornament in his palm; the silver contrasting against his black leather glove. Alan worked so hard for this, a triple A graduate, something that, even today, rarely happened. It was a testament to how dedicated Alan was. Dedicated, hard working, emphatic, empathetic, kind, headstrong, a spitfire, all things that were Alan.

He stares longingly down at the ornament before he makes up his mind on something. He moves to the ensuite and looks at himself in the mirror. For the months that had passed since,  _ then _ , he had begun to look a little better. He’d been sleeping a little better, eating a little better, taking care of himself  _ a little better _ , yet the hole in his heart remained and his eyes were just as dull to match but it’s not his appearance that has his attention, but his tie. With his other hand, he reaches for the already loose piece of fabric. There’s a slight moment of hesitation before he yanks on the knot, undoing it and letting the article of clothing fall to the floor. He takes a deep breath and keeps his eyes locked on his reflections as he puts on Alan’s tie.

He keeps his hand over the ornament, counting backwards from five before dropping his hand. He stares. The tie looks strange on him, like it doesn’t fit right but the longer he looks, the more he slowly accepts that this was Alan’s and wearing it will be like taking Alan wherever he goes.

Maybe, this would be his way to fully recover. Maybe, with Alan’s tie against his throat, he could find that will that Alan had when he became a triple A graduate. After all, he knows William had been right at one point,  _ “Alan wouldn’t want you sulking because of him, you know. He…loved you too much for you to be upset over him.” _ . For Alan, and maybe a bit for himself, he digs deep inside himself for that will to finally move on. He would try to pick up the pieces of his broken heart and try to put them back together. If Alan could keep a good head on his shoulders with the cards he’d been dealt, then Eric could square his shoulders and look despair in the face. “Ye meant sae much tae me,” he says to himself in the mirror, fingers curling around the skull ornament, “ye always will. Tha’ll ne’er change. Sae, fer ye, I’m gonna do me best. I’m gonna try tae move on, tae live fer the both o’ us, tae be a better reaper tha’ ye helped me become. I’m gonna try, fer ye, Alan.”


	4. Chapter 4

The mornings are hard, harder than they used to be. He used to wake up with a distaste for life simply because nothing ever changed with him. It was work, day in, day out, he had no one to talk too and only one reaper who tried to keep him company in the most obnoxious ways possible. He used to wake up and want nothing more than to go back to bed. The only times he felt even that little bit of peace upon waking, was when he had someone sharing his bed. To open his eyes and see someone he cared so deeply for laying next to him made the mornings all that more bearable. 

When he wakes up now, it’s with kinks in his neck, a shiver as the blanket doesn’t retain much heat; he feels old and so much unlike himself, far more than he ever used to. Even his routine that would bring him some peace, some uniform in the mornings, was only done so he could get the day over quicker now.

His fingers continuously stir the metal spoon in his cup, his eyes following the hypnotic movement without even really realizing what he was doing. He was paying too much attention to his hands; Ronald had made a comment about them before. Boney hands, he had said and even then William never paid much attention to the observation, but now, he can’t help that’s where his attention is. They never used to look like this; skin stretched thin and bones far more prominent than what they should be, but he supposes it’s what happens after many years of not taking care of himself, of, quite literally, working himself to the bone. He supposes, there’s no reason to really care about that anymore because there was no one that cared if he did. Alan had been that reason then Ronald and now, both of them were dead.

The coffee is bland, even with spoonfuls of sugar, it tastes like nothing, much like the food he forces himself to eat. All of it is tasteless, bland, and he wonders why he even tries at all. Even the walk to work, doesn’t give the same sense of serenity it used too. Nothing does and he doubts anything would again. He’s a man that lost everything alive and now he’s a reaper that lost everything dead. Sometimes, he wonders, if he had the courage to step down from that rooftop, would his life have gotten better? Would he have found that love he used to long for? For would he be able to raise a son that was born from lies? In the back of his mind, he knew he would but in the here and now, he doubts it completely.

He enters the office with little care of posture in the early morning. The rare reaper around is too engulfed in their own affairs to bother noticing the ghost of their superior walk past them and for that, William is grateful. He never cared to talk to his reapers this early in the morning before and he certainly doesn’t now. Thankfully, not even Grell is around to break the silence he’s craving.

His footsteps echo in his own mind as he gradually makes his way up the stairs, letting his gloved hand glide along the metal rail, dreading the paperwork he knows is waiting for him at his desk. If things continue with how they were, he knows it won’t be an easy day.

It’s always made worse when he comes up to the landing where his office is located; where Alan had died in his arms. He remembers that moment so clearly, hearing Alan’s deathly cry and catching his body before he could hit the cold hard floor. He remembers watching the thorns make their way up Alan’s neck, from his eyes and his mouth, the quiet pleads for Eric as blood bubbles over his lips, taking his last breaths before finally going limp. He remembers holding Alan’s body until the shock finally wears off and he finds his voice to give orders. For all the hatred he harbours for Eric now, he feels pity that he couldn’t have been the one to comfort Alan during his last seconds. “…Spears? Lad, ye alrigh’? Yer jus’…standin’ there.”

William spins around at the sudden voice behind, an action done so quickly, he nearly falls backward, catching himself on the railing. “Slingby.” he says, looking at the blonde who stands there actually looking like he would have caught William if he hadn’t caught himself. “What are you doing here so early? Why are you on this level?”

Eric’s hands slowly retreat until they’re in his pockets and he leans against the railing with all the nonchalant Eric usually radiates. It’s then he notices what’s around Eric’s neck; Alan’s tie. Considering how rare that tie was, he knows it’s nothing else but. Why was Eric wearing it? Why did Eric think he  _ deserved _ to wear it? “Spears?”

William snaps his eyes upward and Eric knows what he’d been staring at, a hand having come up to cover the ornament. “Why…are you wearing it?” he decides to ask.

Eric looks down at himself then away, sighing as he does. He doesn’t answer right away, letting a silence hang between them before dropping his hand and looking back at William, “because I miss ‘im. I miss ‘im bu’…ye were righ’. Alan wouldn’t want me tae mourn ‘im fer the rest o’ me life. Puttin’ this on, it’s me promise tae be better, fer ‘im.”

There’s another silence as William tries understanding Eric’s thoughts and if he's honest, it made sense. What better way to keep a deceased lover close then by wearing what they had been so proud of? William knows, even if Alan had died later without outside causes of a spirit, Eric still probably would have worn his tie. “For him.” he repeats.

Eric pushes himself from the wall and there’s obvious hesitation before he lifts his hand, holding it out to William. “Fer yesterday, I wanna apologize. I dinnae mean tae say wha’ I did. Even fer ‘ow we see each other now, tha’ was too cruel.”

William looks almost bewildered down at the hand Eric’s offering him. Had Alan’s tie really changed him that much? “Slingby…” he can’t bring himself to shake that hand because he knows, Eric was right. It was his mistake that caused the death of the two closest to them, Eric shouldn’t apologize, instead, it should be William. “No. You do not owe me an apology.”

Eric looks at him. “Wha’ do ye mean? ‘Course I do.”

“No. You were right, after all. You shouldn’t apologize for being right.” Eric drops his hand and William can feel him watching as walks up the final step. He will leave things at that because he has no urge to talk about any of this, not now, preferably not ever. Eric was right, he messed up, he caused their deaths. Eric had nothing to apologize for and yet he was somehow being the bigger man by doing so.

William’s wrist is grabbed and he’s stopped dead in his tracks as Eric says his name, “Spears.”

William closes his eyes. “What, Slingby? I have work to begin.”

“Not righ’ now.”

“What do you mean, not right now? Right now, is the perfect time to play catch up and I would like to do so, without you holding me back.”

Eric refuses to let go of his wrist, no matter how hard William tries yanking his hand away. He’s very close to  _ demanding _ , Eric let him go, when the older man speaks again, “Spears, we need tae talk.”

William winces, pleased Eric can’t see it. “There is nothing to talk about. Humphries and Knox are dead because of a mistake I made. You have every right to be angry with me, to despise me. Whatever else you want to say, is made null by those very facts. Now please Slingby, let me go.”

“If ye think I’m gonna let ye go without sayin’ wha’ I need tae, yer an idiot.”

“And you’re an idiot if you think any of that will change anything.”

“I know it won’t, bu’ tha’ doesnnae mean I dun want tae say it.”

Eric lets him go and William knows he can walk to his office and lock Eric out, can avoid this talk, can avoid his emotions for that little bit longer.  _ Can _ . For some reason, his feet are planted firmly on the ground and no matter how hard he tries to leave Eric behind, he remains where he stands. “…fine.”

He hears Eric take a breath. “Thank ye.” William’s thankful Eric doesn’t ask him to turn around, instead, he stands there and listens. “I’ve lost track o’ the time, I cannae even remember wha’ month it is anymore. Ever since Alan died, time’s jus’ been blurry tae me and then Ronald died sae soon after, I gave up on a lotta thin’s. Goin’ out, socializing an’ instead fell heavily on me crutches of drinking. When ye gave me the box of Alan’s thin’s, I wanted tae throw it all away, bu’, seeing Alan’s tie…wearin’ it, it made me realize tha’, Alan would be fuckin’ disappointed in me choices. When ye told me Alan wouldn’t want me like this because ‘e loved me too much, ye were righ’. If I wanna keep Alan’s memory alive, I need tae move on. I need tae live fer the both o’ us.” there’s another bout of silence until Eric continues, “wha’ I said tae ye, wasn’t righ’. Ye may no’ show it, an’ yer Spears, sae I’m not surprised ye dun, bu’ yer hurtin’ even more than I am.”

William stands there, stock still until his fingers curl into tight fits and he’s so thankful Eric can’t see his face right at that moment. “A reaper is meant to work quickly and coldly without their emotions getting in the way of their job. First and foremost, we are reapers. These relationships we had and continue to have, are against the rules to begin with. Reapers do not bring their emotions into the job for a good reason.”

“We were human, William. Once upon a time, we were human and this reaper shite, doesn’t take tha’ away. All of us are ‘ere because human life fucked us an’ ye know wha’? A lotta o’ us take this afterlife as a way tae ‘ave wha’ we dinnae get tae ‘ave alive. Ye think I coulda be open abou’ me love fer Alan back then if we were human? I woulda been killed fer it, bu’ ‘ere? We dun ‘ave those restrictions. Aye, I get it, when we’re on collection, we keep our emotions in check, I understand tha’, bu’ with each other? There’s no rules against tha’.”

William squeezes his eyes shut, controlling his breathing. “What does any of that have to do with Alan or Ronald?”

“Tha’ we loved ‘em. Tha’ there was nothin’ wrong with lovin’ them an’…an’ the mistake ye made, I think something like tha’ was bound tae happen. Yer overworked as it is an’ now more then e’er. The Board doesn’t take it easy on ye an’ I dun give a shite if yer the District Head. Yer worked far too ‘ard an’ I know Alan an’ Ronald wouldn’t want ye running yerself into the ground like this.”

“…why do you care?”

“Because they aren’t ‘ere tae do it.”

William turns around finally, pointing directly at himself and digging his index finger into his chest, “Because I  _ killed _ them, Slingby. I made a mistake that got them both killed. Why the hell would they care what happens to me when I’m the cause of their death?”

“They loved ye.”

William swiftly turns away once more, swallowing down the forming lump in his throat. Like hell would Eric see him cry. Eric would not get to see that weakness, would not get to mock him for it. Instead he says, “leave, Slingby. You’ve said your piece.”

“William—”

“ _ Leave _ .”

“No.”

“Just tell me you hate me, hate what I’d done and leave it at that. I would prefer it that way, actually. It would be far easier than whatever you’re trying to do.”

“I…I dun hate ye, William. Not anymore.”

“You can’t change your mind that quickly. That tie you're wearing, doesn’t make you Alan. It doesn’t change how you feel about me or my actions. So please, stop trying to be the bigger man and leave me be.”

After another bout of a long silence, he thankfully hears Eric give some sign of defeat. “Fine. Fine, fer now, I’ll go bu’ no’ without this one last thin’. Aye, wearing this, doesn’t make me Alan. No’ even close, bu’ it’s a sign of me tryin’ tae forgive. Tryin’ tae mend wha’ ‘appened between us. I’ll leave fer now, bu’…bu’ if ye e’er want tae try talkin’ this out, then, me doors always open.”

He hears Eric walking away after that and William is able to hold his emotions in long enough until he’s behind his closed office door. It’s there, where he slides down the wood and lets his tears run free. Why? Why did Eric have to be like this? If anyone had something to apologize for, it was William. Not only had he allowed a spirit to act out its revenge on two reapers who weren’t even involved in her death, but how he spoke to Eric the day of Alan’s wake. Those words he spat at the other man deserve more of an apology then what Eric had said to him.

It’s not the first time he wished he had someone to comfort him. It’s not the first time he’d wished Ronald was alive to give him that comfort he so craved but of course, if he was, William would have nothing to cry over. Instead, he sits there, alone in his office, silently crying as he laments how lonely the after life was. He had two reapers willing to give him affection and both times, he’d ruined it. Alan had left for a man who knew how to be emotionally available and Ronald had felt inferior because of his last love. Eric was right. Those emotions they were meant to keep at bay only applied to the souls they collected, it had no effect on their daily lives with their fellow reaper.

He finally wipes away those tears and nearly robotically, gets up to go to his desk, sitting down at it just to look at all the paperwork he has to do today. Eric had another point; the Board really did work him too much but who was he to tell the Board he was being overworked? Most of them were looking for an excuse to get someone older into his position and he wasn’t going to give them that excuse. Instead, he digs inside himself to find that reaper persona and puts it on, picking up his pen.

******************************

As the day wears on, he’s less and less conscious of the time. He knows, to him, there’s no point in taking breaks, no point in worrying about lunch. The work he has must get done and he will get it done; he’ll work though the wobbling of his hand, the doubling of his vision, the fatigue he’s feeling quickly catching up to him, he’ll work through it all.

The tip of his pen barely touches the next dotted line when he hears the knob of his office door turn. He glances up as a reaper cautiously walks in holding a death list. He fears why they’re coming to him but thankfully, it’s not as worrisome as he first thought, “um, sorry to bother you, Mr. Spears, but my mentor told me to give you this death list after he was put in hospital for a demon injury. I’m not allowed to collect on my own yet and he said to give it to you?”

William inwardly sighs, holding out his hand in request. The young reaper puts it in his hand and he brings it in, flipping through it. Thankfully, all the souls set to be collected in here have been, there are only two missing and William thinks, perhaps, the fresh outside air would do him good. “Alright, thank you.” the reaper gives a bow and leaves as Willam stands from his chair. He doesn’t take long at all, leaving to mortal London and standing in the evening sun. Unlike lately, it’s a nice day; there’s no grey clouds, no rain, just a warm sun beginning to set.

He takes a deep breath, simply being for a few moments before he takes to collecting the last two souls on this list. They’re nothing out of the ordinary and they leave him wondering if he had stepped down from that roof, would he have been killed trying to keep his family fortune in his name? In a cruel irony, that would have been the better outcome; to die by someone else’s hand and be put to rest instead of being here, haunted by the guilt of your continuous mistakes.

Perhaps it’s because he’s unwilling to give up the outside just yet by returning to his dreary office or perhaps it’s because he’s filled with self hatred, or it’s both, but instead of going back, he finds himself wandering through the same cemetery he always used to wander through. The same place he’d met Ronald at that one day, where he sat with his sketchbook while he fought with Eric. Where they had their first true interaction of reaper to reaper rather than subordinate and superior. Where he threw Ronald’s ashes once the wake had ended.

He takes a seat on that bench and leans back, closing his eyes. If he listens carefully, there’s a wind and with it, it carries the sounds of a pencil against paper, the quiet mumblings of an artist critiquing his own work. “Ronald.” he says into the wind, “Ronald, if you could answer me right in this moment, would you tell me one thing?” as if, somehow, the question is answered as the wind stops, like it’s waiting for him. “…if…if none of this happened, if you still felt the same about me, if you still wanted to be with me, would you…come to love me as…as I had you?” like an answer, there’s a weird warmth to the wind now, as it picks up once again and it circles him, almost like it’s an embrace. It’s enough that it has him breaking down on that bench, wrapping his arms around himself and he cries. He hunches over and can’t hold back those sobs he’d kept in since that day. He doesn’t beg this time, knows nothing will change, but the warmth around him is still there, as if it’s Ronald himself trying to comfort him, a comfort William knows he doesn’t deserve. He weeps there, for an undetermined amount of time, emptying all these pent up emotions he damns Eric for bringing back. “I had loved you.” he chokes out, “I had loved you more than I know you thought I did. I was so horrible to you, I lacked the way of showing you that I cared and you were murdered thinking you were just a stand in for someone else. I’m so,  _ so _ , sorry Ronald and I beg,  _ beg _ , for your forgiveness, if you could ever give it to me.” It’s then that the wind begins dying down again. Almost like it’s a gut reaction, he reaches out to pull that warmth back but of course, his fingers clutch nothing but air and once more, he’s alone.

He sits there now, breathing shallowly and wiping his eyes, trying to dry those tears. He must return to work and he knows he couldn’t be seen looking like this. He had to lead by example even if his heart is aching.

He never returns to work. Whatever has possessed him has decided that he couldn’t return. Instead, when he’s back in his own realm, he returns to his own flat. He draws the curtains over the windows, locks the door and sits on the couch he’d gotten so used to sleeping on. From there, he takes Ronald’s sketchbook and sets it on his lap, carefully opening it up. He doesn’t want a tear or crinkle that wasn’t already there, he wants to keep these pages as pristine as he could, to keep Ronald’s artworks preserved.

He finds this had been his nightly routine, looking through all of Ronald’s sketches and imagining what they would look like if they had colour; he still has the sketch Ronald gave him to paint. It still sits untouched after all this time. He worries he wouldn’t be able to do it justice and instead ruin it, so he leaves it how Ronald had left it.

He always stops on the sketch Ronald had made of himself and William; one based on nothing prior, just something that came from his mind. It’s his favourite sketch because, if he lets himself believe, it’s a version of them that could have been happy. A them he dreams of…

******************************

_ “I dunno senpai, I kinda like the idea of a blue sky.” _

_ “Mm, a blue sky would be nice, but the colours of an evening one would be soothing.” _

_ “You say that cuz you’re not good at painting day scenes, right?” _

_ “…I’ve dabbled.” _

_ Ronald laughs, laying his head on William’s chest. “Y’know, just for you, I’ll let y’ get away with an evening sky.” _

_ William has his arm wrapped around Ronald’s shoulders while he lifts his other to gesture to the sky they’re staring up at, “look at this. You can’t tell me this wouldn’t be beautiful to capture. The pinks, the purples, the reds and oranges. Far more variations than simple blue.” _

_ Ronald hums, titling his head to look at William from where they lay on the grass together. He leans up and gives William a gentle kiss, an action that has William startled and Ronald smiling, “sorry Will. Didn’t mean t’ scare ya.” _

_ “You startled me.” William replies, using that same hand to cup Ronald’s cheek with, gently running his thumb under Ronald’s eye, “but I never would have rejected a kiss.” _

_ “Didn’t know y’ liked kisses.” _

_ “Not unless they’re from you.” _

_ There’s a pink to Ronald’s cheeks, one that compliments the hues of the sky. “C’mon, no one said you were suave.” _

_ “I’m not. I just have quite the loose tongue around you, Ronald. Why? Are you complaining?” _

_ “Nope, not at all.” _

_ Ronald kisses him again and William sighs into it, letting his eyes close as he just feels the younger man over him. He’s warm and a comfortable weight, his hands touch gently but with purpose but never delve into obscene territory. If anything, with how they massage into the muscles of his shoulders, it might as well be obscene enough. It’s easy to lose himself in Ronald, let the blonde take control of the situation and allow himself to be pulled along; to let go of control for once, to be the follower instead of the leader. Then suddenly, there are words whispered into his ear, words he never thought he’d hear from Ronald, “I love you, William.” _

******************************

He jumps awake when there’s a boom of thunder. The sketchbook drops from his lap and he’s on his feet in seconds, taking a moment to register that it was indeed, just thunder. He shakes his head, kneeling to pick up the sketchbook when another sound is heard over the hard pelting of rain against the roof and windows. A…scratching? He stills and listens, clutching the sketchbook to his chest like it was a lifeline. The scratching doesn’t get closer but does get more intense each second goes by.

Setting the sketchbook down safely, he follows the sound until he stands right outside his bedroom door. Suddenly, the scratching stops. William feels himself shaking now; ever since Ronald had died in that room, it never felt the same anymore. He’d heard things before and always hoped it was his imagination and he hopes that’s the case now. With a deep breath, he carefully turns the knob then pushes the bedroom door open. His blood runs cold. There, in the exact spot he found Ronald, is his name, carved into the polished wood with the very same blade the blonde carried on his person.

He slams the door, holding it closed like someone was trying to get out, his mind running for options. He hates when he knows what the only option is but at the same time, only he would understand what was happening.

He doesn’t care if he’s underdressed for pouring rain, that his hair gets in his eyes, that his glasses are spotted and he almost slips on the forming mud in his rush to get there, he just needs someone else to see what he has. So when he gets up to the door, he bangs on it until the door opens and Eric’s standing there dressed for bed with an expression one can only describe as trepidation, “she’s back.”

Eric blinks. “Huh?”

“That…spirit has carved my name into my bedroom floor!” Eric looks at him like he’s crazy but thankfully, he knows William wouldn’t act like this if he hadn’t seen something that would scare him. So wordlessly, Eric takes an umbrella from the stand next to the door and pops it open as he walks out, taking William’s arm so they make both walk under it, not that it mattered to William, soaked as he was.

When they get back to William’s home, William elects to stand outside with the umbrella Eric lends him while the blonde checks inside. Normally he’d go with Eric, but his emotions had been shot today and he worries he’d break down again in front of the blonde. “Spears, yer fuckin’ with me.”

“…pardon?”

“There’s nothin’ on yer bedroom floor.”

William lowers the umbrella and closes it while he follows Eric into the house and to his bedroom. Sure enough, there’s nothing there; no marking of his name or Ronald’s knife. Instead, the blade is right where he left it, next to Ronald’s watch on the dresser. “…it was there…”

Eric turns with an unimpressed expression, not that William could blame him. Instead, he looks like an idiot and he feels shame burning on his cheeks. “Instead, ye know wha’ I see?”

“…an idiot?”

“Well, aye, I see tha’, but I also see a flat tha’s seen better days.”

William winces out of Eric’s sight as the blonde’s eyes scan his home. There’s dust that’s been collecting and the couch he’s been sleeping on for months has the blankets strewn about and the coffee table is covered in books that haven’t been bothered to be put away. “…you’re right.” He agrees.

William expects Eric to laugh at him and leave him as a soaking mess but instead, there are warm, big hands placed on his shoulders. Barely, does he find the courage to meet Eric’s gaze. “Spears, look at ye. Look at this place. Ye’ve no’ been taken care of yerself, I think everyone can see it in yer eyes, on yer face. Yer suits are jus’ a little looser than they use tae be and ye look like ye ‘aven’t slept in fuckin’ years.”

“…I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep when I know I’ll just wake up to no one.”

“Sleepin’ on tha’ couch probably doesn’t help. Why no’ sleep in yer room?”

“I found Ronald in that room. His body. I can’t…go in there without seeing it in my mind over and over again.”

Eric frowns and William is thankful he looks like he understands that feeling. “Yer spare room?”

“For how I treated Ronald, I don’t deserve comforts like a bed.”

“Sae yer punishin’ yerself?”

“Yes.”

“Spears, Ron’s dead. Dun ye think that’s punishment enough?”

“Not when  _ I _ killed him.”

There are moments when William forgets that Eric’s older than him but then there are moments like these where it’s blatantly obvious who has the age between them. In that moment, Eric decides he’s had enough. “I’m givin’ ye one chance ‘ere Spears. One. Tha’s it. I’ve tried tae make amends, I’ve apologized, I’ve tried this mornin’ an’ ye turned me down, sae I’m givin’ ye one last chance.” William braces himself as if he’s about to be hit, but Eric only tightens his grip on his shoulders, “will he accept me help? My apology an’ let me ‘elp ye get ye back on yer feet?” William doesn’t give him an answer. To Eric’s credit, he waits a good long while and William still doesn’t say anything.

Finally, Eric gives a defeated sigh and drops his arms. William hears him walking away, hears the umbrella opening up and he knows, if he lets Eric leave now, he’ll be headed down an even darker road. “…Eric…” he forces out his name and the footsteps stop. There’s another pause, the rain pounding in his ears as William fights with himself, his lips trembling as he tries to find his voice until finally,  _ finally _ , he does. “I…I want your help.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, here we are again! A sequel I said I might end up doing to 'Mind Who You Reap'! Really I just wanted to write Eric and William as a couple and practice writing sequels, so thank you to all who read the first story! I hope you stick around for this one and enjoy it as well!


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